Ocean City — Donna Hopkins

*Baltimore Avenue, Ocean City, Summer 2023*

My parents worked very hard in our family-owned seafood restaurant, Parker’s Crab Shore, and seldom were able to take much time off from work. All of my growing up years, Tuesday was their only day off from work. My Aunt Shirl and Uncle Bobby had Thursdays off. Uncle Cal and Aunt Alva took Wednesdays. And as far as I can recall, Grandma and Granddaddy (Big Head and Dot) didn’t take any days off. But they were determined we have something akin to a vacation. They would load us in the station wagon, in the early morning dark hours, and make the 3 hour drive to Ocean City, Maryland. We stayed the whole long day, packing an entire vacation into one day, so they could be home for work the next morning. There was little debate as to our itinerary, because we all agreed on the list. Swim in the ocean. Ride the rides. Play games of chance and win a prize. Eat—caramel corn, ice cream, hand-cut fries, a Taylor Pork Roll sandwich, fried chicken. Walk the boardwalk and shop for an M. R. Ducks t-shirt. We begged to take home a hermit crab (the answer was always NO!) and tried to talk Mom and Dad into buying something called an invisible dog (which was truly a stiffened leash with no dog attached!). Sometimes we worked in a game of putt-putt golf or a ride through Assateague Island to see the wild ponies. And some years we stopped on the way home to visit Aunt Flossie and Uncle Bradford who lived along the way on Virginia’s Eastern Shore. We’d arrive home at midnight—sticky, hot and tired, and thoroughly satisfied.

When my husband and I took this little getaway to Ocean City last week, it wasn’t about nostalgia or trying to recapture the past. It was a kind of tribute to the people who love us and the many ways they show that love. It was an understanding that most of us do the best we can, and figuring out how to belong, how to love and be loved, is our life’s work.